Shawsheen Square from the south,
1946,
with the Bahnoral Spa on the right.
(Photo courtesy of the Andover Historical Society )

CHAPTER SEVEN

Economics and Politics

The economic life of Andover has had many interesting twists
and changes during the last seventy-five years. In my early years
the majority of the middle-class or "blue collar" workers
were employed in manufacturing. The American Woolen Company, of
course, dominated the area in the 1920s with their Shawsheen mill
in Andover, and their Wood, Ayer, and Washington mills in Lawrence.
Most of the Andover mill workers were employed here in town, but
a few rode the trolley cars every day to work in Lawrence.

In addition to the Shawsheen mill, Andover also was home to
the Marland Mill, an M. T. Stevens-owned facility on Stevens Street;
the Smith & Dove flax mill across the railroad tracks from
the passenger station; and the Tyer Rubber Company on Railroad
Street. The Bradlee Mill in Ballardvale was out of business by
the time I came around. The Watson-Park Chemical Company in Lowell
Junction came upon the scene in the 1920s.

It was pretty much the rule in the 1920s and 1930s that anyone
who did not go on to college, or at least some further schooling
after graduating from Punchard, would probably end up in one of
the mills. As I look at the scholarship and financial assistance
programs that are available to high school graduates today, I
am truly amazed. Families lived from one payroll to the next.
Most people just managed to pay for the necessities. There was
very little of what is known today as discretionary funds. Few
families owned one car, never mind two, three, or five. Public
transportation was the only means of getting around for many families---the
Eastern Mass trolley cars for access to Lawrence, either to work
or to shop, and the Boston & Maine Railroad for travel to
Boston or even to Haverhill.

Men who had any type of trade businesscarpenters, plumbers,
electricians and the likeusually owned a horse and wagon. That
is why most old homes in the center of town have an attached barn.
The tradesmen would go to the job in the morning in a horse-drawn
wagon with tools, lumber, and supplies. Unless they were working
close to home, they took a lunch too and a feed-bag of grain for
the horse. And don't forget the pail, because the horse had to
have a drink of water after eating the oats.

I can recall very vividly that my father, a carpentering contractor,
would rise at about 5:30 a.m., go out to the barn to feed the
horse, come in to eat his own breakfast prepared by my mother,
then harness the horse and head out to the job. It was a matter
of great pride that, although the starting time was seven o'clock,
"real men" were always hard at work sometime between
6:45 and 6:50 a.m. It was only the lazy slacker who waited until
7:00! And once work was begun, the true professional would never
stop precisely when the noon whistle blew at the Tyer Rubber shop.
Back again before the one o'clock whistle at the Marland Mill,
they quit five or ten minutes after the four o'clock mill whistle.

All the tradesmen of that generation were the same, working
with a strong sense of pride. They took pride in their work and
in the fact that they always gave just a little bit more than
was required of them. Most were real "tinkerers" or
handymen; they could do a little bit of work that was not really
in their domain. My father would replace some shingles or clapboards
on the side of a house and then paint them. He made fence pickets
for the fence around the Barnard Elms---the house at the head
of High Street that faces Elm Square---and painted them. By the
way, that fence had a special panel picket that Dad used to make
by hand in his shop. I don't think that anyone ever had access
to the pattern, and the design of that fence must have died with
him. The fence, too, is now gone.

Tradesmen learned their trade as apprentices. My father worked
for several years for Hardy & Cole before he was ever allowed
out on a job alone. If he made a mistake, he would have to stay
late and correct it on his own time. They had no union to run
to with a grievance. And there was no such thing as "close"
or "pretty near." Jobs had to be done right. We don't
demand that today and, as a result, we quite often don't get it.
We are afraid to demand excellence---perhaps because we are afraid
it will be demanded of us in return. Or have we lost the will,
because we don't have to feed the horse in the morning before
we eat!

Set apart from the mill-workers and the tradesmen were Andover's
"executive" class. In the 1920s the big economic stick
was carried by the American Woolen Co. and its senior management
personnel. Billy Wood made a lot of his group independently wealthy
by the standards of those days. They were the men who, with their
families, lived in the elegant "brick section" of Shawsheen,
that is, the blocks of houses on the west side of North Main Street.
I was quite friendly with many of their sons, who were my high
school classmates---Bill Currier, Bob Graham, Red Bume, and several
others.

The annual incomes of the fathers of those boys probably ranged
anywhere from $15,000--$20,000 to as high as $35,000-$50,000.
That is chickenfeed today, but in those days it was a lot of money.
The average tradesman, like my father, worked for an hourly wage
of about $1 per hour for about 44 to 48 hours per week. There
being no such thing as time-and-a-half for overtime, that meant
that at best my father, a skilled carpenter who had to spend years
as an apprentice learning his trade, was never able to make more
than $2,500 annually---usually somewhat less. The average mill-worker,
at 70 to 80 cents per hour, was able to hope for somewhere between
$1,500 and $2,000 each year. This of course did not take into
account strikes or slowdowns in work.

Police, fire, highway department workers, post office employees,
and similar public sector workers had the great advantage of steady
employment, so they were considered well offat about $25 to $27
per week---simply because of their job security. In the twenties
and thirties the great mass of people were the working class.
The precious few were the upper class.

Other than the mill executives, and there were a few others
besides those affiliated with the American Woolen Co., the majority
of the well-to-do were a few Boston investment bankers and stock
brokers who lived in town and went to Boston every morning on
either the 7:30 or the 8:07 train. They included the Ripleys,
Carlton Kimball, David and William Shaw, Wally Johnson's father,
and a few others. The gentleman farmer from River Road, Edwin
Shattuck, could probably be classed with them as well.

Most of the people who "had money," as they used
to be described, went to Sunday church services at either the
Episcopal or the Old South churches. The Free Church and the Baptist
Church in those days had to get along on the contributions of
the working classes.

The West Parish congregation was made up for the most part
of farmers and residents of the rural community. The farmers were
not wealthy, but they worked hard long hours and almost always
had enough to eat---they truly earned a living by the "sweat
of their brows."

Perhaps I can give you a better picture of this if I refer
you to St. Augustine's Church on a typical Sunday morning in the
1920s. There were three Masses on Sunday then---6:30, 8:30, and
10:30. The 6:30 mass catered to a few people like my father, who
would be up early anyway---to water and feed the horse---and most
of the domestics---the "greenhorns" as they were called.
These were the young girls, often from Ireland, who did housework
in the homes of the wealthy (who would not be about until later
in the morning). The girls would be home from mass in time to
get breakfast ready.

The 8:30 Mass, with regular attendance of about 750, was always
crowded, standing room only across the back, two and three deep.
The final 10:30 Mass served a few elderly people, and those among
the younger element who had stayed out too late the night before.

In all, some 700 to 750 heads of families would enter the church
on Sunday morning. Of that number perhaps five, at the most, would
have as much as $10 in their pockets. It was not necessary to
carry a wallet: there were no credit cards, relatively few had
need for a driver's license, and no one carried any identification,
because everyone in town knew everyone else.

Maurice Curran, reputed in those days to be the wealthiest
man in New England, certainly had extra "change" in
his pocket. He and his entire family were very "charity-minded."
The Currans did much for many, but except for public gifts for
church---new organ, new marble altars, and such---most of their
good work was quiet and performed without fanfare. I well remember
in later years when my mother was soliciting funds for the Bon
Secours Hospital Auxiliary, that her first call every year would
be to Miss Margaret Curran. Margaret would always take the call
herself and my mother would always receive a check in the mail
the following day. Margaret Curran was the sole survivor of her
generation. Although she certainly was many years my senior, whenever
I would meet her, be it at church (she attended daily mass for
many years) or in the downtown stores, she always addressed me
as "Mr. Doherty." We often stopped to chat, sometimes
just about the weather, or perhaps I would chide her about oversleeping
and missing mass that morning. We could certainly use a few more
like her today.

The Currans were what I would call a "class" family.
You may say that that was easy because they could afford to be
generous. But how many have money and opt to keep it for themselves
or waste it on personal pleasures while their fellow citizens
go hungry! One of the Curran daughters married Daniel J. Murphy,
a very capable Lawrence lawyer. He served during the 1920s as
town counsel for Andover, the position until recently held by
Al Daniels. After the "bank holiday" of March 1933,
Maurice Curran put $1,000,000 into the almost defunct Arlington
Trust Company in Lawrence and handed the keys to the bank to Murphy.
The story of that bank, presided over in turn by Murphy and his
son and grandson, is a success story of the first magnitude. The
bank grew and prospered until it became, at the time it was sold
to the Hartford, the sixth largest commercial banking organization
in the state.

The Murphys made the Arlington a success because they made
it a personal bank. They knew their customers and they treated
them on a personal basis. When the out-of-state banking interests
started to erode that"personal commitment," Daniel III
decided to resign and, along with some of his best, brightest,
and committed female colleagues, opened Northmark Bank in North
Andover. When you walk into that bank today, you feel that you
are entering the home of friends. Jane Walsh, the president, and
Alexis Korbey, the chief operating officer, along with Dan, make
a truly fine "corporate office." I am pleased to call
them friends. Perhaps, before this book is finished, they may
see fit to open a branch in downtown Andover.

But, to get back now to the economic makeup of that Sunday
congregation at St. Augustine's: Dr. Jerry Daly, father of my
classmates Billy and Josephine, and Eleanor, who married my college
classmate Phil Doyle, could probably have pulled a ten or even
a twenty out of his pocket anytime. Jim Greeley, who owned the
market, was another. Perhaps Joe Burns the lawyer and father of
my classmate John, could always find extra money, although it
must have cost him a lot to feed and clothe all his children.
His brother Billy, owner of the Burns Co. clothing store and a
lot of the business section of town, could also certainly meet
any giving challenge. But those men were about all.

The average Sunday collection in those days would be a little
over $100. The monthly collection, taken on the third Sunday for
the support of the parochial school, would usually hit about $300.
(No tuition was charged for the school when I was there; in fact,
I don't think that tuition entered the picture until well into
the 1950s.)

Some things had been a little more expensive in the 1920s than
they were in the 1930s, because of the Great Depression. However,
to demonstrate with some figures, I did some research several
years ago to show the difference in costs and wages in 1937---my
first year in the insurance business---compared with the present,
vis-a-vis the relative costs of auto insurance in the same period.

My memory, which is still good I hope, tells me that in 1937
a first class postage stamp cost 2 cents, the Evening-Tribune
also 2 cents, a loaf of bread 8 cents, a pound of ground beef
about 13 cents. For the best available private room at the Lawrence
General Hospital, a patient paid $7 per day, and for a new 1938
Ford superdeluxe four-door sedan, $840. I drove one, and full-coverage
auto insurance on that car, in Andover, was about $68 a year.
On the other side, the police officers and firefighters worked
six days a week for about $24 starting pay. School teachers, with
a four-year college degree, received about $1,500 a year.

The same goods and services, respectively, cost today 29 cents,
35 cents, about $1, and about $2 more or less. The Ford LTD must
be about $15,000; and I have no idea of the cost of the hospital
room but it is undoubtedly exorbitant. Today's car is much improved
with computerization, but it will also fold up much quicker in
a crash; and the level of medical care is much improved. The Massachusetts
auto insurance policy form and coverage is vastly improved, having
adopted most of the enhancements found in the National Standard
policy.

The postage stamp still represents the finest and most efficient
postal service in the world. The newspaper is supposed to be more
efficient, although I still don't understand why they have to
have an 8:00 or 8:30 deadline for an 11:00 press time. As I recall,
we used to call in late items at 1:30 p.m. and the paper was still
on the street at 2:10!

In the 1920s life seemed simple and quiet in this town. There
were no flag-burnings, almost no housebreaks, and drugs as we
know of them today were unheard of. A few unfortunate town characters
would occasionally come home from Lawrence on the last trolley
Saturday night, and if unable to navigate, would be put in the
lockup at the police station, in protective custody, until they
slept off their "jag."

We survived the collapse of the Shawsheen Village boom and
the sale of the Smith & Dove mills to the Ludlow Manufacturing
Company. In a sense, we could face the stock market crash of October
1929, because we had been conditioned to severe setbacks in the
economic life of the community. In fact, in the first few months
of the Depression, there was relatively little impact on the town
as a whole. Some of the wealthy and near wealthy who had invested
heavily in the stock market had to scurry around and come up with
enough reserves to avert a total wipe-out. As I look back now,
I realize that some of my schoolmates in high school probably
would have been attending classes at one of the academies had
not the "crash" occurred.

The national economic disaster had little direct effect on
me. My family was not wealthy. My father worked all his life for
a day's pay, and we never had any false delusions of grandeur
in our house. We had all the necessities of lifefood, clothing,
and shelter---but if I wanted to get to the Saturday afternoon
movie, I had better be alert and save the nickel returns on the
milk or tonic bottles from Bob Franz's store at the foot of Harding
Street.

I never owned a bicycle, ice skates or roller skates, or skis;
but I never felt deprived, because most of my friends were in
the same situation. Our summer baseball games were usually played
with well-taped balls and cracked bats. In the winter, there were
always two or three sleds around the house and, when the weather
cooperated, we would coast after school and on Saturdays on the
hills around the neighborhood. There were almost no autos to interfere
with our fun and the baker, eggman, and others were careful to
guide their horses out of our way.

Well, as the Depression set in and 1930 moved into 1931, things
did get tight. As I look back now, I recall that my father would
order a half-ton of coal instead of a ton. Of course, things were
always more difficult in winter, and by 1932 the welfare lines
were forming. The churches were helping more families. Bread lines
were forming in the cities. We were hearing and reading about
real suffering and deprivation throughout the country.

Herbert Hoover, who had beaten Al Smith in a bitter struggle
for the presidency in 1928, was nearing the end of his first term.
He was beset on all sides by troubles, and it appeared that Franklin
D. Roosevelt, the aggressive governor of New York, was going to
get the nomination of the Democratic convention in Chicago.

FDR, as he was known far and wide, won the nomination and later
the presidency. He stepped into office on March 4, 1933, and immediately
closed all banks until they could satisfy regulators that they
were capable of reopening on a sound basis. The first, I repeat,
the first nationally chartered bank in the United States authorized
to reopen after the "bank holiday" was the Andover National
Bank. Brother Bill always liked to tell the story about being
in the newsroom at the Tribune when the bell on the old
teletype machine sounded and the teletyped message came through
about "our hometown bank."

The Stevens family of North Andover were the principle stockholders
of the bank, and I presume that the reopening was a matter of
great family pride. They would not let the Stevens family name
and reputation be tarnished. Oh, how we could use some of those
people today!

The federal government set about immediately to prime the pump
and get the economy moving again. Roosevelt, in his inaugural
speech, told a weary, fearful, nation that the "only thing
we have to fear is fear itself." He took to the radio---no
television for a few years yet---and with his "fireside chats"
guided the country back onto its feet. He preached the four freedoms---made
famous in artistic works by Norman Rockwell---freedom of speech,
freedom of religion, freedom from fear, and freedom from want.

By degrees we came out of the Depression.

We set up bread lines for free food down in the rear of the
Town Hall---where the Senior Drop-in Center is now located. I
used to pass the line of unfortunates as I went in to the police
station to discuss playground business with my good friend George
Dane, the chief.

The ERA, a "make work" program for the able-bodied,
was succeeded by the PWA. This program sponsored construction
of roads, sidewalks, parks, and similar projects. It was under
the PWA that such projects as the Memorial Auditorium and the
junior high school were built. The C.C.C. and its part in developing
the Harold Parker Forest I have already discussed in some detail.

The welfare portion of the New Deal programs was administered
locally. Prior to the adoption of the town manager charter here
in town, the selectmen appeared on the election ballot three times.
They served as selectmen; they were also elected as the board
of assessors, and their third role was as a board of public welfare.

Dr. Jerry Daly was a member of the board and served as chairman
of the board of public welfare. As such, he controlled the distribution
of food and the assignment of work---three days a week for $15.
He was fair but firm, and there was no fraud or mismanagement
of the program in Andover. Eventually he was defeated along about
1936 or 1937 by Roy Hardy, who served for twelve to fifteen years
after.

I think that you can appreciate that during these years, with
some people on welfare and others working perhaps only three days
a week in the mills, home mortgages were certain to fall behind.
It reached the point, early on, where many homeowners were lucky
to be able to pay the interest only on their mortgage, and not
pay anything toward amortizing the principle. The banks, Andover
Savings and Andover National, went along with this idea, possibly
because they had no choice.

Both banks were controlled by the same group of men (heaven
forbid that any female would ever be admitted to board membership!).
Burton Flagg was president of the Andover Savings and a director
of the Andover National. A member of the Stevens family also served
on both boards. The headmaster or treasurer of the board of trustees
at Phillips Academy would likely be found on both boards. Wallace
Brimer, treasurer of Tyer Rubber, was on both boards, and so it
went. There were no laws in those days prohibiting interlocking
directorates, and the practice was very common in banking circles.

A study of the makeup of those boards in those days will show
that not only were there no women, there were no Catholics and
no Jews. It was a very tight, private group. In one sense I cannot
fault that; the executives took in their friends. They all traveled
in different circles, and they tended to trust their friends and
to distrust---or to be unwilling to take a risk with---those whom
they did not know well. This obviously still happens in some areas
today.

As in any loose-knit group like this combine of men who worked
and played in a closed atmosphere, there had to be a "leader."
This is where our old friend, Burton S. Flagg, came into the picture.
A tall, lean, Vermont Yankee, he came to town around the turn
of the century. He served for several years as an assistant to
Joe Smart, the president and chief operating officer of the Merrimack
and Cambridge Mutual Fire Insurance Companies, a very important
part of the community.

In those early days the "dwelling house mutuals,"
as the small New England mutual fire insurance companies were
called, used to underwrite the business in their own immediate
area, without ever moving very far from home. There were, when
I started in business, about twenty-six of these companies. When
contact with the outside world of commerce arrived, it was necessary
to write on a wider scale and to use other companies to share
some of the risk. After all, a serious fire in a single block
could seriously imperil the surplus of a single small insurance
company. In order to handle the business of other companies, and
with the advent of other types of insurance, it was necessary
to set up an independent agency. Thus was born Smart & Flagg;
the companies and the agency occupied the entire second floor
of the Andover National Bank building at 21 Main Street.

My earliest recollection of that building was its center entrance,
with the National Bank on one side and the Andover Savings Bank
on the other side. Along in the mid-1920s---you can check the
cornerstone on the current Andover Savings Bank building to verify
the date---the Savings Bank moved to its own building, at the
corner of Chestnut Street. At 21 Main, the insurance companies
and Smart & Flagg occupied the entire second floor over Andover
National, and St. Matthew's Lodge, Ancient Free and Accepted Masons,
had their temple on the third floor.

Joe Smart died before my memory started to record the events.
My father and my Uncle Martin both knew him and always spoke very
well of him. With his death the mantle of authority and responsibility
for the insurance operation fell to the shoulders of Mr. Flagg.
In physics class years ago I learned that "nature abhors
a vacuum," and that phenomenon applies in many areas. Apparently
Burton Flagg was not bashful and not averse to stepping into the
spot left vacant by the too early death of his mentor. The younger
"Telemachus" was due to rise to heights never, I am
sure, dreamed of by his "Mentor": president of two insurance
companies, soon to become president of the Savings Bank, director
of the National Bank, treasurer of the board of trustees of Abbott
Academy, director of the Andover Press Ltd., as well as many other
honorary positions that now escape me.

Personally, I had only one direct contact with the man and
that occurred when I was substituting for Bill once as a newspaper
reporter. Bill must have been getting a few days of vacation at
Hampton Beach. Whenever he was sick, or needed a short break,
I filled in for him. It must have been about 1940. Lucy Shaw,
widow of David Shaw of 85 Main Street and a long-time friend of
my family, died. I got the word at my 1:30 p.m. call to Everett
Lundgren, Donnie's father; he told me I should see Mr. Flagg the
following morning to get the obituary. Mr. Flagg, it was explained,
was the executor of the wills of both Mr. and Mrs. Shaw, and he
wanted time to put the story together. This sort of amused me
for two reasons: first, I had known Mrs. Shaw as well as her two
surviving sisters and her only niece. I could write the story
better than he could---I felt. Secondly, the elderly woman had
been bedridden, requiring nursing care around the clock, for about
five years. Flagg had certainly had plenty of time over the last
several years to write the notice and leave it on file with the
funeral director or the newspaper. Nevertheless, I went up to
the second floor of the bank building the next morning, as requested,
and after several curious looks from employees who wondered what
I was doing being ushered into the private office of the "Great
White Father," I was invited by my host to sit down.

Mr. Flagg pulled a sheet of paper out of one of the pigeonholes
in his huge rolltop desk, and suggested that I read it---to be
sure I understood it, I guess. Well, after discovering the first
error in the first line, I think I was more interested in what
he was doing than in the contents of the flowery obituary. Here
was the biggest name in town, well connected with national association
contacts and all that stuff, sitting at his desk, letter opener
in hand, slitting used envelopes on three sides, and flattening
them out so they could be used as note pads.

As I recall, Mrs. Shaw's obituary was written out in longhand
on the inside of one such recycled envelope. Well, when I recovered
from that culture shock I asked: "Mr. Flagg, when did Mrs.
Shaw move?" Perplexed, he asked what I meant by that question.
With my best mannered and courteous way, I responded: "Well,
you list her as living at 89 Main Street, and I am quite sure
that she was living at 85 Main Street. I have been there many
times with my aunts and uncles." That sent him right to the
phone book, the street list, and a few more corroborating documents---and
fortunately for me, I won the only skirmish I ever had with Burton
S. Flagg. That, of course, was not unusual. He never held a public
office. I never even saw him at a town meeting. He never was quoted
in the press, and so it was that to the vast majority of citizens
who were born, lived, and died in Andover in the first half of
the twentieth century, he was never blamed for anything, nor was
he ever credited with anything. And yet, not even Billy Wood,
with all the power of the American Woolen Company in the palm
of his hand, ever, in his most powerful days, impacted the business
and political community as effectively and thoroughly as did Mr.
Burton Flagg. He was the fortunate victim of circumstances, finding
himself in the right place at the right time.

Bill and I, because of our news-reporting obligation to be
aware of the town boards and their workings, probably had a better
vantage point from which to observe town politics than did most
others. Like most small New England towns in the early years of
this century Andover was burdened with a religious bigotry that
seemed to permeate the entire society. It showed its ugly head
in most walks of life. The well-entrenched Yankee Congregationalists
of earlier generations seemed to resent the so-called "newer
generations."

Oddly enough, we see the same phenomenon today among those
of us whose forebears came here from Europe in the last century
and gave us a chance to get an education, good jobs, and a comfortable
way of life. Today we, as a body from diverse ethnic backgrounds,
have a tendency to resent the fact that Afro-Americans, Asian-Americans
and Hispanic-Americans are moving in on us.

In the early days, I understand although I personally never
saw them, it was not unusual for help-wanted signs in store windows
to carry the accompanying notation NINA-No Irish Need Apply. The
first wave of English-speaking, Roman Catholic immigrants to invade
these shores were, of course, the Irish. The animosity that had
existed between the English and the Irish back home seemed to
carry right over into the New World, and by the time I was growing
up in Andover, most of the big cities throughout the East had
already been "taken over" politically by the Irish---from
their sheer force of numbers. The Irish were producing large families,
and the Yankees were having their one or two children. Does that
sound familiar today?

Today the Irish, Italians, French, and others are very careful
to "plan" for one or two offspring---thanks to the Pill,
or whatever---while the newer arrivals are producing large families.
I fear that the next fifty years will see history repeat itself,
with different peoples playing old familiar roles.

Thirty to forty years ago Sheila and I were happy with the
five that God gave us. It was a bit of a struggle at times, but
nobody ever missed a meal. The joy, the love, and attention that
we have received from each of them is worth many times over any
struggle or inconvenience that we might have experienced. Next
to the gift of "faith" there is no greater gift from
God than the gift of children. Accept them, embrace them, cherish
them, and the dividends that they will pay you are countless.

My father was not one to back off or accept a snub without
speaking his mind. So it was no surprise to me that one day when
he was paying an insurance bill up on the second floor of the
bank building---at the "insurance offices"---he was
giving one of the employees a bit of an argument about something,
and, spotting Burton Flagg at a distance he raised his voice and
with a sweep of the arm to take in all the office area he asked:
"And how come you never hire any Catholic girls around here?"
The story, as I heard it on more than one occasion, was that Flagg
disappeared into his office followed by a "deafening"
silence.

Will Doherty didn't care. He had made his point. They knew
that their discrimination was known and that perhaps they should
hire some "tokens." As it turned out, the next girl
hired at the insurance office was, I think, one of the Barrett
girls from Chestnut Street-Katherine's sister. My father didn't
care who was hired; he didn't have any family member to push.
He was happy to be able to help out his old Knights of Columbus
brother, Pat Barrett.

As recently as the late 1940s a saleslady for a local shopkeeper,
Sam Glazerman, got to talking in the shop one day and in the heat
of the discussion she blurted out: "I'd rather my son married
a Nigger rather than an Irish Catholic." I'm sure that she
was not fostering the advancement of the blacks. However, her
remarks were duly noted and passed on to me by the Irish Catholic
bookkeeper from South Lawrence.

In those early days before World War II, there were only three
of four Jewish families in town so they were not considered a
threat. The four or five black families were "tolerated."
But the Irish were an ever present worry because they were many
in numbers and they would not lie down---at least some of us.
As soon as the Jews started to move into town, they were shut
out of the best neighborhoods. Fred Cheever, the developer of
Johnson Acres, would not sell a house or house lot to a Jew; and
Shirley Barnard, although they fought each other tooth and nail
in business, still honored Fred's strict rule against any Jews
in the "Acres."

Somehow or other George Dane moved up the ladder in the police
department and was appointed chief when Frank Smith grew too old
to function. There really wasn't anyone else who could do the
job, so George won it. When he collapsed and died one Saturday,
it was hurriedly decided that Ray Hickey, the senior sergeant
in age and longevity, should serve as acting chief until a civil
service exam could be arranged.

Well, it didn't take more than forty-eight hours for the boys
in control to decide that that would never do because it would
be several months before an exam and resulting list, could be
available. On Monday night, it was announced at the selectmen's
meeting that the two sergeants, Hickey and Dave Nicoll, should
serve as chief on alternate months.

Now I am sure that my good friend and fellow classmate and
football teammate never had anything to do with that maneuver.
Dave was a professional, and smart. He easily led the civil service
list when it came out, and served as Andover police chief, with
honor and distinction, for over 30 years.

That is the way things happened. The recipients never really
knew why they won and the losers never knew why they lost. Through
his position as a newspaper reporter, and later together as insurance
brokers, Bill and I had an opportunity to study the inner workings
of Andover's "Vault."

As I have said so many times, "Nature abhors a vacuum,"
and business and politics follow nature very closely. I presume
that before the World War I era, the economy and politics of the
town were governed and controlled from the banks. After all, the
entity that controls credit controls the minds and hearts and
wills of the populace. The American Woolen Co. and William M.
Wood had such a strong impact on the town and its economy for
about ten years that the nice orderly control was askew for a
while, but after the death of Wood, the "Vault" took
over.

If you study the history of mankind you will find that most
people are followers, few are leaders. Most will rally around
anyone whom they perceive as a leader. For whatever their reasons,
the businessmen in Andover, from all facets of the economy, quickly
identified their leader: Burton S. Flagg. Now you have heard me
mention his name many times in the pages of this book, but I tell
you, truly, no single individual enjoyed the position of control,
respect and allegiance of the men who were in high places in town
for as long a period of time as Burton Flagg experienced. He was,
as Bill so often described him, "the driver of the eighthorse
circus wagon." All the reins were entwined in his fingers,
and he was able to control each horse and make each one respond
to his bidding.

When Bill ran successfully for the school committee, some of
the intrigue that brought young teachers in to Andover from out
of town and even out of state became quite a puzzle to him. But
when we got into the insurance business and started to look up
the hometowns of some of these teachers, we found an interesting
similarity of names in some of the agencies and local fire insurance
companies.

You see, the school board had a rule that no one could be hired
unless and until they had two years of teaching experience. That
sounded good and to a purist it might sound good now, but what
it did was shut out of the running all the young Andover girls
and force them out of town to teach or into some other occupation.
On the other hand, it left the doors open to friends and relatives
of business acquaintances from the outside. It took a few years
to break that system up, but it was not easy.

We always felt that the most amazing part of this whole story
was that even the people who administered and enforced the policy,
the school board members and most of those who were brought into
the school system, never really understood how or why it worked.
Ken Sherman came into town in the 1930s from Abington to take
over as principal of the new junior high school. Ken later succeeded
Henry Sanborn as superintendent in 1940. He and Bill were good
friends, and one day they were discussing our theory of just how
the system worked. Bill asked him, "Who succeeded you in
Abington?" Ken responded that some young fellow from within
the system had stepped up. "Did he have any connection with
anyone at the Abington Mutual?" (one of the member companies
of the New England association).

"Oh yes," replied Sherman, "he was related to
the family that ran the insurance company and the local bank."

"Case dismissed," said Bill. "You were a fortunate
victim of the system."

I still remember the names of some of those young teachers
that we were able to trace to family names of officers of some
of those insurance companies: Adams, Bruce, Brown, Porter, and
some others. There were never any McCarthys or Greenbergs.

Bill found out that Henry Sanborn got his prospects for Andover
teaching position from one single teacher employment agency in
Boston. They always had just what he wanted and needed. As long
as these girls registered with that agency, it all seemed legitimate.
Bill felt that even Henry Sanborn, to the end, was not fully aware
of the program. If you could trace only one or two of these to
names and localities, then you could argue that it was coincidence.
When we began to see a trend, it really defied reason to consider
it as accidental.

That is the way it was in the good old days---or were they
so good? In no way do I wish to infer that any of these fortunate
young ladies were anything but capable teachers. As far as I know
they were all well equipped for their work. My complaint stems
from the fact that local girls, children of local taxpayers, and
products of the local school system, had to go out of town and
scrounge around for a position, instead of being able to live
at home---as most young single men and women did in those days---and
help with the family budget through Depression days.

When Bill died, one "girl" came over to me at the
funeral home and whispered: "No one will ever know how much
Bill did for the local girls who were looking for jobs in the
Andover school system." She knew, because she was one of
the girls. I'm sure that many of them will go, or have gone, to
their graves without ever knowing the intrigue and the fighting
that kept them out and later brought them back in.

In the 1920s, when Bill started to cover the town as the reporter
for the Eagle-Tribune, there were no "open meeting
laws." Every meeting of the selectmen, board of public works,
and school committee were the equivalent of "executive sessions."
If you wanted to talk to the selectmen about some matter---as
we did about the town insurance one time---you would be invited
to the town hall at 7:30 and left to sit out in the corridor until
about 9:45, when they got good and ready to admit you for a few
minutes.

The press was never allowed into the meetings. The same rules
applied to the other boards, too. The press would be told whatever
it was agreed should be made public. This is not, mind you, an
attack on any one public official. This was the way the town government
worked between annual town meetings.

There is the story, not generally known today, some sixty-five
years later, that Alexander Rogers, the grandfather of the present
publisher of the Tribune, Irving Jr., was fed up with the
lack of news from Andover Town Hall, so he sent "Red"
Dyer---Bill's predecessor---over to the weekly meeting of the
board of public works with orders to get in, observe, and report
the goings on. Red rapped on the closed door, and the knock was
answered by Chuck Gilliard, the assistant superintendent, under
Frank Cole. Red said he wanted to attend the meeting as an observer
and was having a little difference of opinion with Chuck. Some
members of the board got concerned and asked Dyer what he wanted.
That gave Red his chance; he stepped in and said he was representing
the press and demanded admission. One of the board members, Barnett
"Barney" Rogers, was adamantly opposed.

"Mr. Rogers," Dyer said, "your son sent me over."

"Well, you go back and tell my son to run his newspaper,
and let us run the board of public works." End of conversation.
When the publisher passed Dyer in the newsroom the next morning,
he asked Red how he had made out.

Red recounted the events of the night before, including the
advice from father to son. Alec Rogers merely chuckled and walked
into his office.

That was the way that the public business was conducted in
Andover---and, I suppose, in many other small towns in the first
quarter of this century. I cannot help but smile now when someone
in town ties up a meeting of the board of selectmen over the question
of whether or not a special meeting has been properly posted in
a timely manner. I really laugh out loud at those who stand up
in righteous indignation when the state legislature operates late
into the night. They merely learned it from their Republican predecessors
of long ago.

In my youth Massachusetts was a very conservative, one-party
state: Republican. When Bill wrote in my name on the ballot for
a position on the Democratic town committee in 1938, the party
registration in this town was about three and one-half to one,
Republican over Democrat. Although they would never change their
party designation on the voting list, many who had profited by
the Roosevelt New Deal were---in the secrecy of the polling booth---already
voting Democratic.

When I was elected to the town committee, I joined Mike Burke,
the funeral director, and Jimmy Darby, older brother of Katherine
Merrill and Mary Connor, wife of my lifelong friend, Joe. When
election time came along, we were expected to run an ad in the
Tribune endorsing the entire Democratic slate. Jimmy would
come into the office and collect $5 from me to cover one-third
of the cost of the ad.

The Republican town committee of those days included several
of the more prominent men in the town---Fred Cheever, Harry Sellars,
Roy Hardy, Jim Mosher, John Stark---and anyone else that they
cared to reach out and pull in. It is interesting to note that
there were no women on the party committees in those days. Except
on the school committee and as library trustees, women did not
really get involved in politics until alter World War II.

Almost all of the state constitutional officers were Republican;
the county commissioners were Republican; Fred Butler, Andover's
town moderator in the 1930s was a commissioner. Our state senator
was Republican, but in the 1920s and until redistricting in the
1930s, Andover was linked with Ward 6 in South Lawrence as a double
district for state representative.

Tom Lane, a young lawyer, and Arthur Ganley, both Democrats,
were elected for several terms by the heavy Ward 6 vote. Ganley
was succeeded by Jim "Cabbage" Donley. (I never knew
where the nickname "Cabbage" came from. There were many
explanations, and some of the ones that originated in Andover
were not very complimentary!) Our senatorial district included
North Andover and Haverhill; I don't recall any of our early twentieth-century
senators. Alter World War II Andover did get some local representation
in the senate from John Adams and later Phil Allen.

When the House of Representatives was redistricted in the 1930s,
we were thrown into a triple district that included North Andover,
Ward 1 in Lawrence, and most of Methuen. J. Everett Collins from
town (of the Collins Center fame) served that district for several
years, along with Frank Giles and Bill Longworth from Methuen.
Collins retired after five terms and was succeeded by Attorney
and later Judge Arthur Williams. Arthur also served as town moderator
in the early 1970s.

In those early days the city of Boston and some of the larger
cities Lawrence were heavily Democratic strongholds, but practically
every town and several of the cities---such as Springfield and
Pittsfield---were very much Republican. The unrest of the Depression
days gave us Democratic governors, Jim Curley and Charley Hurley,
but the legislature remained in Republican control, and it was
not until my old friend from college days, Tip O'Neill, was elected
Speaker of the U.S. House that things started to turn around.
Tip moved to the Congress in 1952 when Jack Kennedy ran for the
U.S. Senate.

From that point, about 1949, the tide went out for the Republican
Old Guard, as the new war vets began to assert themselves. It
has been a very interesting half-century for me, sitting on the
sidelines as I have, to see the gradual change that has taken
place.

Until Paul Tsongas defeated Paul Cronin for the 5th District
U.S. Congressional seat in the 1970s, Andover had always been
represented by Republicans. First it was John Jacob Rogers, who
died in office in the 1920s and was succeeded by his widow, Edith
Nourse Rogers. She was succeeded by her administrative assistant,
Brad Morse, and he by Andover resident Paul Cronin.

All of these people, I am certain, served the interests of
this town and its citizens well. There were times, as in the case
of the state and federal approval of the junior high and auditorium
projects, when we had to run around elected officials and use
outside help, but they were doing the bidding of those in the
town who had their ear.

It used to be said that Andover had a larger ratio of "reserved"
auto registration plates---that is, having numbers under 100,000---than
any other community in Massachusetts. That could have been because
Frank Goodwin and Rudolph King, the early registrars, took care
of their friends, or it could simply be that a larger proportion
of more Andover citizens were able to afford autos before the
rest of the state. My Uncle Martin had two cars in the early 1920s
with consecutive five figured plates, 30507 and 30508. He sold
one and turned in 30507. I still have 30508, on my wife Sheila's
car; it has ridden with the family since about 1923.

Back in those days a reserved plate was a status symbol. Today
it merely costs more money. For many years Bill would take a batch
of renewal registrations in to the registry office in Boston before
the October 15 deadline. That was in the days when all registrations
and insurance expired on December 31 at midnight. We really worked
in the insurance agencies during the month of December, getting
out all the renewals and new accounts, picking up heavy piles
of plates at the registry office on South Broadway, bringing them
back to the office, and often delivering the last set of plates
at about 8:00 on New Year's Eve, somewhere in Ballardvale, Methuen,
or North Andover. Life is so much easier now.

In 1963 I was approached by Ed Moss, a local boy, who had become
the chief aide to Ted Kennedy. Ed, or "Boots" as he
was known to his friends around town in those days, had obtained
a position with the Federal Civil Defense department for his longtime
friend Ray LaRosa. Ray had been a lieutenant in the Andover Fire
Department and he was also the chairman of the Democratic town
committee. As a federal employee, under the provisions of the
Hatch Act, Ray had to resign his position on the town committee.

Moss wanted someone whom he knew he could depend on to head
the committee in his home town---no time or place for embarrassment.
I was known to Moss and his wife, the former Katherine O'Riordan.
Kay had been one of my favorite people when I was a playground
supervisor, a friendly, upbeat girl who was always ready and willing
to help, a joy to have around the playground.

I hadn't wanted to say no to my friend Ed Moss. The main meeting
room at the library was taken, so we were shunted off to a small,
low-studded side room. About twenty-seven members of the committee
were present. Jim St. Germain, the political science professor
from Merrimack College, was the vice-chairman, and so was in charge.
LaRosa had already resigned. As I looked around the room, I counted
about nine votes including my own, so I made up my mind that I
was not going to make it.

On the way in I had mentioned to Jack Lussier that I might
be nominated and all he said was, "Don't worry." After
the usual wrangling about procedure---common to every Democratic
party gathering at every level---the nominations began.

There were some snide remarks and some unpleasant undertones
between members who I was sure would not vote for me anyway, so
I let it all go. The nominations were closed, one or two nominees
withdrew. I was still quite disinterested, because my nine friendly
faces were hardly going to prevail. The ballots were cast, and
the results announced by the chairman. I received nineteen votes
out of twenty-seven present. I was stunned. To this day I cannot
figure out where the other ten votes came from. Let me restate
that. I am sure that the Kennedy office must have twisted some
arms, but what I don't know is whose arms they were. Suffice it
to say that to this day I have never bet against the Kennedy organization's
ability to deliver.

One year later, I had a talk one day with Moss on Main Street
in front of my office. He was on his way to Washington to meet
Ted, to fly up with him to the state convention in Springfield
on Friday night. On Friday night, in the convention hall, a portable
radio picked up the flash that the Kennedy plane had crashed on
the approach to Barnes Airport in Northhampton. Ed Moss sacrificed
his own life by shielding Kennedy on impact. He and the pilot
died, and Kennedy spent months in a Boston hospital. To this day,
I believe, he has to wear a heavy metal back brace for support.

Moss was survived by his wife, Kay, and three young daughters,
two of whom were classmates of Sheila and Joanne. Ed was smart,
capable, and dedicated to Kennedy. I have always felt that had
he lived, he would have guided Ted all the way to the White House.
He would have been the strong arm that would never have allowed
some of the "sidetracks" to happen. It always seemed
to me that Ted Kennedy suffered a critical loss in that plane
crash. Jack had his brother Bobby, Bobby had some of the "Palace
Guard" left over from Jack's day, but Ted lost his on the
approach to Barnes Airport in the spring of 1964.

I have told you about the Depression days of the 1930s. Along
about 1938 the rumblings in Europe were getting louder. Hitler
wanted more control of Central Europe and the British and French
seemed unable to contain him. On Labor Day weekend in 1939, he
invaded Poland and all hell broke loose. England and France came
to the defense of Poland and declared war. By June of 1940 Germany
had overrun Belgium, the low countries, France, and was preparing
to invade England. Italy had joined Germany, and Russia was in
on the deal for a while.

On September 16, 1940, we had the first "peacetime"
military draft in the history of the United States. All males
between the ages of twenty-one and thirty had to register, in
the Town Hall. We were, assigned numbers, and when the President
and others drew numbers out of the famous "goldfish bowls"
in Washington on October 16, we all knew where we stood.

The draft started soon after, the enlistment being for one
year. That designation was changed to "for the duration"
after Pearl Harbor. I think that Eddie McCabe was the first man
actually drafted from Andover. I have no idea what ever happened
to Eddie. He had lived with his mother on Barnard Street. In the
first year only a few men were drafted, usually one or two at
a time. Our local draft board covered Andover, North Andover,
and Boxford. Clinton Stevens was the clerk---not a desirable position---and
Henry Hopper, the business manager at Phillips Academy, was the
chairman of the draft board.

Once Pearl Harbor was attacked, and Roosevelt made his speech
to the joint legislatures at noon the next day---referring to
the attack as a "day that will go down in infamy"---the
Congress declared war, and things really started to happen. By
the first week in January 1942, the draft board was sending about
sixty-five to seventy men every two or three weeks. I went out
on April 7, 1942, two days after Easter. I was separated at Fort
Devens on January 31, 1946, on a Thursday, and was at work in
the insurance office the next morning at 9:00 a.m.

I cannot tell you too much of what went on at home in those
days, except that I understand that there were lines to buy almost
everything: meat, butter, silk stockings, gasoline, and tires.
There were ration stamps for food and for gasoline. In one of
my old wallets stashed in a desk drawer I ran across two or three
ration stamps for gasoline that I must have picked up while on
furlough.

Andover utilized air raid wardens---my father was one---and
there was also a home guard unit, made up of those who were too
old, deferred, or already separated for disabilities. Supplies
were short, as all resources were directed toward the war effort
and the four or more million men and women in the armed forces.
There were no new automobiles built for civilian use for about
four years, and anyone who needed a new tire had to beg at the
ration board office. There were blackouts and curfews and, all
in all, it was not very pleasant to be a civilian during those
years.

But, at long last, Victory in Europe---VE Day-came in the spring
of 1945; Japan surrendered in August-VJ Day---and the lights went
on again all over the world. We all soon came home to try to pick
up where we had left off. In some ways it seemed like such a waste
in time and effort. Some never came home; some came back to spend
their days institutionalized; some carried scars to their graves;
and some never were able to cope. These last were the real casualties---young
fellows who could not adjust to normal life, could not forget
the horrors they had lived through and ended up broken in spirit.
Such, apparently, is the price of freedom.

Many Andover boys decided not to return to town to live after
the war. They married and settled down in all parts of the country,
coming back only for high school class reunions, or occasionally
to visit or bury relatives. That closeness of community and family
ties that were the hallmark of every small New England town had
been broken, perhaps forever. Those of us who returned, settled
down, and have retained the traditions of the community feel that
something very precious was lost on account of that break. Perhaps
it would have happened anyway, as travel and communication have
brought the world closer, but I still feel that the phenomenon
was a product of the war.

Slowly but surely as we returned to town and to work in 1946,
the face of Andover began to change. Western Electric Co. had
moved into the former Monomac Mill in South Lawrence, and in a
few years built a giant modern plant in North Andover. With that
came an influx of skilled engineers and technicians who preferred
to live in either of the Andovers. This meant that much of the
farm lands had to be divided and subdivided for new housing. The
construction industry boomed, the banks grew, and the additional
population meant more business for everyone.

Within another few years Raytheon took over the Shawsheen Woolen
Mill, which had been abandoned when the American Woolen Co. folded.
Avco moved into the former Wood Mill in Lawrence. All of these
brought in new blood and fresh ideas to each community. Several
Western Electric employees took a strong interest in Andover town
affairs: Harold King left his stamp on the planning board, Charley
DiBelle served on the industrial commission, and Henry Wolfson
became president of the local taxpayers association. Ed Sullivan,
husband of Jeanne, served on the board of selectmen. All of these
people, with the exception of Sullivan, who died a few years after
he finished his stint in office, came into town, got involved
for a few years, and left. They were either transferred to other
plants or retired and moved away. None stayed long enough to become
a real part of the community.

All these men were well educated, articulate, and very persuasive
powers on their feet. They made their points and swayed the town.
I might say here that there were those in the community who were
glad to see them come, glad to see some of them go, and there
were even a few who wished that they had not come at all. As for
myself, I have had mixed feelings. I always felt that someone
who wishes to change the face of a community, or introduce new
ideas, should stay around, either to enjoy or suffer the consequences
of their propositions. In any event, Andover was here long before
any of us arrived, and I am sure it will survive every last one
of us.

It is interesting to note here that many, in fact, most of
these men were convinced that Andover's government needed a complete
overhaul. With rare exception, they were sure that our selectmen/board
of public works/individually elected public servants system was
inefficient, outdated, and overdue for replacement. At the very
least, they held, we should shift to a strong town manager charter,
and consolidate all the authority of power---outside of the school
department---in the hands of one person, responsible to the board
of selectmen. It appeared that they would grant us our town meeting---at
least for the time being. However, many felt that town meetings
were too cumbersome and archaic, and should be supplanted by a
representative form of town government down the road. Their argument,
as I recall, was that the business of government had become too
complex to be left in the hands of a few part-time amateurs. What
we needed was one full-time professional who would be all things
to all people. That sounded good on the face of it and a lot of
people were swayed.

Now at that time there were other trends and happenings occurring
in the community. I have mentioned before that the Burton Flagg/Andover
Banks empire was beginning to show some slight cracks as we moved
into the 1950s. The Andover National Bank had always been a small
town bank, catering to the needs of the small town. It serviced
the accounts of the town, which were growing bigger in deposits
and balances each year; the insurance companies, the academies,
Tyer Rubber, the Marland Mills, and the bulk of the downtown businesses.

The American Woolen Co. had used Boston and New York banks,
and an organization like Western Electric would use either the
Arlington Trust or the Bay State National in Lawrence for its
payroll accounts because the vast majority of the labor force
came from Lawrence. Let me change that slightly: the Arlington
would not make out in that competition because it was the Irish
Catholic bank in Lawrence. The "old boy" Masonic handshake
was the all-powerful force at the upper levels in Lawrence banking.
You can't fault that, I suppose, because they dealt with the people
whom they knew. We found a similar situation in the real estate
business when our office tried to acquire some of the transfer
business. Those who were transferred up here from Kearney, New
Jersey, admitted to me in many cases that they had been "advised"
where to go before they relocated. It was frustrating at the time
but as I look back on it all now, I smile, shrug, and say to myself,
"If only the Knights of Columbus had controlled A.T.&
T. in those days!"

Well, what brings me to a recitation of all of this is the
other factor that entered the arena at that time. In the early
1950s, Howell Stillman, my next door neighbor on Juniper Road
(and better neighbors than Howell and Mary Stillman no one ever
had) as president of the Bay State National Bank in Lawrence---now
part of Fleet Norstar---had built a branch in Andover on Main
Street. It was a very nice building with adequate parking in the
rear, and a solid bank with a solid reputation, but it was unable
to attract any of the four or five big deposit accounts in the
town.

Howell had served as chairman of the town finance committee
during the 1930s, but had drifted off the scene during the 1940s.
Now in the 1950s, it was not possible to get any of the insurance
company account with Flagg still at the helm. Nor could Howell
get the Phillips Academy account, because its treasurer sat on
all of Flagg's boards. Wallace Brimmer, the treasurer at Tyer
Rubber, was on the board at Andover National, and the Stevens
mills were sewed up because the Stevens family owned most of the
Andover National stock.

There was really only one account that the Bay State could
hope to obtain to make the branch pay its way: some of the town
of Andover deposits. Toward that end, Howell worked hard and allied
himself with those reformers who wanted change in the town government.
It took them about four years, but on the second ballot try, the
new charter was adopted and at the next annual election, five
new selectmen, committed to the reform, were elected. And the
old guard---Sid White, Stafford Lindsay, and Dr. Bill Emmons---were
turned out.

It was quite a change. Bill and I sat on the sidelines and
watched in some amusement. Up to that time we were not big favorites
at Town Hall, although Stafford Lindsay was a personal friend
with whom I had worked on several projects and Sid White was an
old buddy who like me frequented Ford's Coffee Shop for breakfast
and lunch.

Gene Bernardin, who died about two years ago after a long and
difficult illness, was the first chairman of the "new"
board, and immediately he pushed through an order for the appointment
of an insurance advisory committee. We had discussed the town
insurance among ourselves many times, but the old board would
never let anyone even mention town insurance. All the active agencies
in town, except Bernardin, were represented on that advisory committee,
and I was elected chairman. Eventually we got the insurance program
up to date and after a few years, working with a succession of
managers, arrived at a formal process whereby all interested local
agents are now able to make formal presentations which are evaluated
for the town by a consultant. The town then buys the best presentation
of coverages commensurate with cost.

Well, Tom Duff, from Claremont, New Hampshire, was Andover's
first town manager. One day not long after he came on board, he
admitted to me that some of the town funds were now on deposit
at Bay State. The most amusing part of the whole scenario was
that I had opposed the charter change. I saw through the power
fight between the banks, although our agency business went through
the Arlington Trust at the time. I was not too sold on the concept
that you could go to one person for answers to all your questions
and solutions to all your problems.

However, the first day the new manager was due in town, I came
out of 8:00 Mass at St. Augustine's a step ahead of a stranger,
who, after a good morning greeting, introduced himself to me as
Tom Duff, the new town manager." He was walking, so I gave
him a ride uptown, and we went into Ford's, where I introduced
him to all the gang. After all, if Tom and Stella and Lillian
Desrocher, who was working there at the time (now at Lantern Brunch),
didn't approve, we would have to ship him out immediately. Tom
Duff and I became good friends. As a matter of fact, a funny thing
happened that first August after he came to town.

We were moving our family on a Saturday to spend a few weeks
at Rye Beach. On Route 95 I passed Tom and his family laden down
with baggage, so I stopped and he stopped and we talked about
where we were going; I think he was going downeast to York for
a week. Back in Andover later that week, I received a call at
the office from Ruth Hitchings, the manager's secretary (Ruth
died last year). Some emergency had arisen, and no one in the
Town Hall knew how to get in touch with Tom.. I was the only one
in town, it seemed, who knew where to reach the manager. The fact
was, Tom had left his address and phone number right on his desk,
but someone had covered it over with a pile of papers.

Tom Duff was an easy-going fellow, friendly and well liked
by the man on the street. He was a good choice as the first manager
for Andover because he was not overbearing and arrogant. He worked
well with all the department heads and made the transition to
the new charter an easy road for all the town employees who had
to make necessary adjustments. He moved along for the first two
or three years and walked the tightrope with his board of selectmen.

However, along about 1963 a controversial issue came up that
split the political and business communities down the middle.
Urban Renewal was suggested for the center of town. Again, the
banks were in the middle of the conflict. Wally Haselton at the
old Andover National Bank and several of the town's businessmen
were on one side, and again, Howell Stiliman and the Bay State
Bank were opposed. I don't recall whether there were any sound
policy reasons for the Bay State to be opposed, or whether it
was just a case of opposition to the other competition. The local
housing authority would have been the conduit for the federal
funds---potentially a few million dollars---and the Andover National
was their depository at that time.

Our office favored the program because of what it would do
for the municipal budget. As I recall---and I could check with
Ernie Hall, the executive director of the authority at the time,
or Dave McDonald, who served on the board---for an expenditure
of about $600,000 in actual outlay, the town would have had new
town offices, new fire and police stations, and all new water,
sewer, and storm drains in the central business district. In addition,
several old frame buildings would have been replaced and parking
provided, all in accordance with a master plan. However, fear
was planted in the minds of many of the small shop operators.
They complained that they would suddenly have to pay exorbitant
rents---not realizing that they were already paying high rent
for the inferior facilities they occupied. They felt sorry for
Hyman Krinsky (Morris's father) who would have to give up his
junk yard on Park Street. The barber in the Musgrove Building
was afraid he could not afford to stay in town; this from someone
who was already paying one of the highest pers-quare-foot costs
in Andover.

The Andover Board of Trade, which was about to become an affiliate
of the Greater Lawrence Chamber of Commerce, held a dinner meeting
at the Shawsheen Manor and took a poll of its members. As I recall,
with thirty-one businesses present and voting, the vote was fifteen
in favor of the program and sixteen against. The matter was on
the town warrant at the annual meeting and was decisively defeated.

Within a few years the town, indeed, spent more than $600,000
on the public safety building on North Main Street; within the
last few years we have spent about $2,000,000 on restoring the
Town Hall; we have spent millions on the conversion of the Punchard
High School building to town offices; and God help us when we
have to replace our water, sewer, storm drains, road and sidewalk
surfaces in the central business district. As the saying goes:
"We ain't seen nothing yet."

Well, Tom Duff went against his best political instincts and
spoke in favor of Urban Renewal. He felt, like some but not enough
of us, that the financial gain for the town was something that
we could not afford to lose. That decision cost him his job when
his five-year term was over. He broke with the power structure
that had brought him in, and that was his undoing.

I still hear from Tom occasionally. He is now located in Vermont,
and whenever he passes through town, he usually stops by the office
to say hello. He was succeeded by Dick Bowen, a man with an altogether
different personality and temperament. Dick was, and is, smart---in
fact, in many ways he perhaps was the sharpest of all the managers
we have had---but his overbearing manner made him less appreciated.
Dick was the only one of all our town managers with whom I had
trouble working; and yet, to this day, I like him and respect
him.

Dick was followed in order by Maynard Austin, Jared Clark,
Ken Mahony, and our present administrator "Buzz" Stapcynski.
Maynard Austin was a fine administrator, but unspectacular in
the sense that he did not come up with the glitter that would
make the selectmen get excited, and he was dismissed in due time.
Jared Clark, a fine gentleman and good administrator, really was
not at the helm long enough to make many enemies. He resigned
after two or three years and went into sales, although he, like
Dick Bowen, is still living in town. Jared is active in the Andover
Endowment for the Arts and sat on the board that operated the
Collins Center.

Ken Mahony succeeded Jared Clark, served about eight years,
and resigned to reenter the private sector while this book was
being written. Ken has really left his stamp on the community.
During his tenure, the Old Town Hall was restored, the high school
on Barfiet Street has been converted to the new town offices,
the library doubled in size, the expanded water treatment plant
was readied to go on line. To me perhaps Ken Mahony's most important
contribution was the establishment of a Tree Farm on land adjacent
to Spring Grove Cemetery. As you drive along the older neighborhoods,
those of you who grew up in Andover must feel a touch of sadness
as you note the lack of shade trees lining our streets. I think
of the beautiful elm, maple, and chestnut trees that shaded the
streets that bear their names. Hurricanes, road salt, disease,
and the hot-topping of the areas between the gutter and the sidewalk
have all contributed to the demise of the shade trees.

Apparently Ken felt as I have long felt, and it was his intention
that when the trees down on the "farm" grow to the proper
size, they should be transplanted to provide the shade along our
streets. In years to come I hope that this project that Ken started
will be cultivated by his successors and not be forgotten and
abandoned.

In June of 1990 the selectmen brought in Buzz Stapcynski from
neighboring Wilmington to be our sixth town manager. He will be
faced with the monumental task of keeping the fiscal ship of state
afloat. Between the constraints of Proposition 2 1/2 and the drying
up of state aid---due to the Reagan years in Washington during
which about one billion dollars annually in block grants to this
state were shut off---the town faces the problem of maintaining
a school system and a town governmental facility that is already
about three million dollars short of where it should be.

Buzz has been blessed with a fine assistant in the budget and
finance department. Tony Torrisi has been on the job for almost
ten years and has been a great help to all departments of the
town. He works well with the finance committee---appointed by
me---and we, as a community, are fortunate to have him in our
corner.

The one sad point about the manager form of town government
is that just about the time when a manager knows his way around
town without a map and can greet the librarians by their first
names, he either gets a better offer from some other town or he
runs afoul of a majority of the board of selectmen. We are now
working with our sixth manager, although I am sure that the town
would have been well run over all thirty years by any one of them---even
Dick Bowen, despite our clashes.

There is, I believe, one other problem with the system. We
have what is known as a "strong manager charter," so-called
because it gives the manager very broad power and authority. In
theory as in fact, there is only so much authority below the level
of the town meeting, so whatever is placed in the office of the
manager has to come from the office of the board of selectmen.
Effectively, a strong manager charter arguably leaves the board
of selectmen with only two real bases of authority (beyond the
statutory responsibility for approving, after the fact, pole locations
and street opening permits): hiring and firing the manager. I
realize that this is over-simplification, but the fact is that
almost all problems and complaints that come to the board are
passed on to the manager for investigation and, usually, eventual
resolution.

There is no doubt room for argument on both sides of that issue,
but some of us remember when the members of the board of selectmen
were truly the "Town Fathers." They hired, fired, and
settled all disputes---and had to account for their actions. There
was no one else to blame. On the other side of the coin, we have
a professional manager, hired to run the business of government,
with the advice and consent of a board of directors.

As finite beings, living in a finite world, we cannot hope
for the perfect solution. In the last analysis, our government,
whatever the form, will be as good as the people whom we entrust
to administer it. In my lifetime, thank God, Andover has been
served by a long line of dedicated public officials. I have disagreed
many times with the decisions that some of them have made, but---and
I have said this before---I have never had occasion to question
their motives or integrity. In these days of public unrest, apathy,
and general disenchantment with the public officials at all levels
of government, I get annoyed with those few among us who constantly
harass and hassle our elected and appointed officials. Instead
of fighting them, why not try working with them for a spell!

Some who worked in the system with pride have been the town
office staff. Over the years, from the 1930s on, the town has
been blessed with many very dedicated employees in the town offices.
Among my earliest recollections were Bill Cheever, the tax collector,
and his assistant, Laura Juhlman; Thaxter Eaton, the town treasurer,
who was succeeded by Anna Greeley, an attorney, and daughter of
the owner of Greeley's Market. In those years Edith Sellars was
the secretary to the board of selectmen, the town clerk, George
Winslow, and also to the board of assessors, who were the selectmen.

Ahnetta Anderson Wrigley, Punchard class of 1927 and a good
basketball player, served in the clerk's office with Winslow and
Irving Piper and right into Eldon Salter's recent regime. Irving
Piper introduced the concept of the votomatic machines for the
computerized system of counting ballots. It was enhanced by Eldon
Salter.

Olga Palenski came into the clerk's office several years ago
and retired at about the end of 1989. Our present clerk, Randy
Hanson, has been in office for almost two years. Her first assistant,
Sandy Cassano, has just moved to the manager's office to succeed
Barbara Gaunt, who has retired.

When the town went to a full-time assessor, they hired Bernie
McGane. He was succeeded by Bill Russell, who served for many
years and has only recently retired.

The board of public works office was for decades a male bastion
until May Shorten (Bell) moved in. May retired several years ago
and still walks---runs---her dog around the town every day.

Betty Nadeau was the board of health nurse for several years
and she was succeeded by Mary Hamilton, who has just retired.
Mary's friend, Barbara Botsch, has just retired from the accounting
department. Barbara's mother, Dorothy Hill Coombs, was a member
of the P.H.S. class of 1925---with brother Bill.

Ruth Hitchings served as secretary to Frank Markey, the veterans
service officer after World War II; she moved over to the selectmen's
office and worked with several of the new managers. Before she
retired, Barbara Gaunt moved in to help her and then assumed the
post.

Mike Muise is still in the treasurer's office, and I think
that he is probably the senior town hall employee, in point of
service. If I have missed someone I am sure I will hear about
it! I have known them all, am proud to call them friends, and
never had an unpleasant confrontation with any one of them. All
these men and women have served the town well and we are lucky
to have them on our team.